Paradoxical Analog
by Meika-San
Summary: Anyone can destroy; Setting the world on fire is not in itself so complicated. But to protect, forgive, even love, one needs a form of courage that not everyone has. Our two protagonists now know this better than anyone. Rating M for lemon upcoming!
1. Prologue : The Proposal

**Hello everyone! First of all, welcome! I need to say that I'm not a native english speaker, so please forgive me if I ever misspell something, and please let me know in the review section, it woud truely help!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **.**

 **Prologue: The proposal**

Or how to end up disgusted with alcohol in one night.

He was trapped.

His body fed up with alcohol was staggering, hitting itself against the thundering walls of the alley. The ground was pitching up in waves, reality was distorted: she was going as mad as he was. Unknown colors danced before his eyes, made him nauseous.

He laughed about it, actually. To blow his lungs out, to get a stomachache. It could have been a very good evening, a little -actually a lot- of alcohol, a good slaughter and a great laughing spree. Unfortunately, what had caused the latter was not, not funny at all. Laughing would only allow him to temporarily extend the deadline. In any case, in regard of the silence emanating from the man still standing a few meters behind him, this man had perfectly understood his response to the proposal he had just submitted to him.

"You must know what your refusal means," he says simply.

That voice! It'd make him puke. He wanted to kill him, to kill him so bad. To drown him in his own blood. But he couldn't. He had abused again. He definitely shouldn't have drunk that last bottle. Maybe even the last two. He forgot, anyway. Walking already seemed difficult enough to him, and even if killing had become a sort of reflex in him, he could not even hope to approach the man. No more bullets in the desperately empty barrel of his good old Magnum 500 Smith & Wesson, and he was way too drunk to attack anyone with a knife. Anyway, there was no doubt that snipers were posted on the surrounding roofs, he would have been quicker to shoot himself in the head. So he was laughing, waiting for a plan, a way out, at least a better option. He wouldn't surrender so easily, though. Who knows what he'd do with him if he caught him?

No, stupid question. He knew exactly what he would do with him if he let himself be caught.

He turned, and between two bursts of laughter, waved a reproving finger.

"But my refusal is adamant!...How could you.. Think I-I'd accept?"

The man did not answer, and just stared at him with his piercing eyes. He took one step forward, the Joker took two steps back, still in that great burst of laughter that terrorized Gotham.

He continued to stagger towards the exit of the alley, half crawling half walking and once he arrived in the main street, he placed himself under the light of a lamppost. He slid on the snow, stood up, laboriously, and greeted an imaginary audience in front of him.

"Would you like to make him suffer the same fate as our protectors back there? But I am an artist you see, and he is... My muse!"

The man did not even deign to turn his eyes to the horrible massacre committed a few minutes earlier in the said alley. What a deadpan. He really didn't know anything about humor. The Joker was twisting enough laughter for two anyway.

"Protectors?" He repeated calmly.

They had proved to be poor defenders, it is true. Simple henchmen, seven to be exact, brought here by the two protagonists. Four giants with the sinister air for his interlocutor, and three young and ambitious thugs for the Prince of Gotham, It had something funny that the mercenaries supposed to protect them were exterminated so quickly. Nothing like a good bloodbath to end the day, right? He made them howl in a spectacular burst of laughter, under the neutral gaze of his interlocutor. Shots fired first. Clumsily placed, randomly entering in the bodies twisting with pain under her ticklish trigger. Then, when the bullets had run out, but the poor, poor corpses could already barely drag their own weight out of reach, the knife. Elegant, precise. The skin was torn to shreds, tearing smiles on the faces of the poor victims, praying for his kindness and mercy. They were trying to escape, to survive at all costs. This vision of these larval men had made him strangle himself with laughter, leaving behind their creeping this red and sticky trail. He had only taken more pleasure in mutilating them, dislodging the eyes of one, eviscerating the other. Every body lying at his feet was a new whiteboard. And he was very inspired tonight.

"That was funny!" he laughed, holding his ribs. "Don't you think?"

"Them?" He asked with a scornful pout, the first real expression he let through,"No, not particularly."

"Oooh, I see" he hiccupped,"A difficult one, huh? What do you find funny, then?"

"You" he replied "You're the most fun thing I've seen in years."

The man then approached with a brisk step, so that the Joker only had time to step back against a street lamp cutting his path. He grabbed the Joker by the collar in an abrupt and precise movement.

"I will have these informations," he spat with his dead eyes that characterized him so well. "And this, whether you give them to me or not."

"You're more alike than you think!" He replied with a laugh,"He too makes me miserable when I'm being bad!"

His interlocutor let him go, a light mocking air now coming to stain his face too often impassive.

"Batman?" He said, almost as an insult,"As if he cared about you."

The Joker's laughter became sour. He hated alcohol after all. He would have reduced anyone to a smoking pile of flesh to have dared that, but unlike these idiots of subordinates, the man was perfectly aware that he could not have done anything against them if they had struggled. What a nice bunch of morons. Well, natural selection, one might say. Now, the man in front of him was another caliber. He was helpless, and he hated that.

The face in front of him took up an empty expression, and turned away adding:

"You're disgusting, and much too drunk for me to get anything coherent out of you tonight. I'll come back for what you owe me later."

"...Not if you don't find me."

He stopped in the middle of the deserted road, and turned partially towards the Joker.

"I'll find you," he simply said.

"Why" he sighed with amusement as he disappeared into the snow,"It's so much more fun to play hide and seek!"

Before I start, I'd like to point out that the story and looks of the characters are not borrowed from any particular movie or series, elements come from everywhere, from the 1989 Jack Nicholson movie to the Batman animated series (mostly the 1992 one), through The Dark Knight, comics and my personal version. (hehe)


	2. Chapter 1: The unexpected guest

**Chapter 1: The Unexpected Guest**

 _Or the whole mastery of the art of jinxing._

.

 **.**

He could feel it.

The Batman caressed his index finger gently through his glove, instinctively feeling the scar on it. A scar, which is all insignificant, a shallow scar, which should have closed long ago, a scar that he had not even bothered to examine. A tiny, ridiculous scar. It was nothing, just an old wound that crossed his finger, but in reality, the real gash was in his mind.

He could feel it. His whole mind, his whole being seemed to tremble. This small notch pulsed in his index finger and was felt all the way to his shoulder. It made him sick to know that he was so close, in action, maybe already accomplished, but he was completely powerless against him. Only one thing was clear in his mind clouded by doubt: The Joker was there.

He was the one who had made that scar, as well as dozens of others, of course. But, go figure out why, this one refused to heal. He certainly had no idea that this cut had marked him so much. Or maybe he had. There's no way to be certain of anything with him.

Batman was perched atop the Chrysler building in Gotham's business district, with the fine but persistent rain dripping on his cloak. He knew how to recognize this feeling, this little hollow in the chest that announced that something was going to happen. That tenacious bad feeling that he hated more than anything else, because it was only rarely wrong.

He swept the crowded streets below him with his gaze, using his pair of binoculars, almost hoping to see a lock of green hair or too big a smile, but saw only a horde of hurried people jostling each other in a dark nocturnal cacophony. He looked away for a moment, contemplating the city from its highest point, illuminated by a thousand lights and making the stars of the firmament pale with envy. He had always lived there, yet he discovered this city every day. She was so beautiful, so graceful from above. Who would have thought that by going down a little in the alleys, searching in the shadows, we would find this dirty population, bruised in crime?

He shook his head gently. He knew he wouldn't find anything tonight. It was the Joker calling him, not him coming to the Joker. He had long fought against this evidence, but yet he had finally resigned himself to it. Although younger than him, the Joker was a very intelligent man in his madness, and diametrically unpredictable moreover.

 _I'm afraid I'll have to come home empty-handed tonight._

He sighed and crossed the last few centimetres between himself and the void. Bruce felt himself plunging head first down the street below the building, his body stretched as much as he could and his arms along his body. The icy air whipped his face partly covered with his mask, while he fell freely from the top of the Chrysler building. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the air running over his body and vibrating against him.

He would run through the rain, melting into it and becoming only one drop of flesh, blood and life and then at the last moment, he spread his wings. The special fabric slammed into the air, then like a switch he stopped falling. He was now splitting the air by hovering over the city, sometimes flapping his graceful black wings to keep the same altitude. He spun for a moment above his beloved and cursed city, then melted down to an isolated street that he knew was empty thanks to his sonar. He skillfully landed on the concrete of the street, then after having taken a circular look around and at the images of the cameras at the entrance of the alleyway transmitted by his armor, activated the retraction of the latter. Within seconds, the armor was repacked and stored in the form of a simple cube, a new function that his dedicated Lucius Fox had added to the last revision. After quickly donning a leather jacket and jeans previously stored there, he finally headed for his motorcycle, a beautifully designed matte black Aston martin, hidden by a tarpaulin in a corner of the impasse. He put his hands on the handlebars, and inspecting once again the surroundings, he started the roadster and rushed into the activity of the main avenue on which the alley led. He heard a few honks of the horn behind him when he flipped the priority and forced the way, but he was not in the mood. The wonder of technology and science he was riding on leapt forward as he crushed his foot against the accelerator pedal.

He vaguely saw the lights of the city dancing around him, but tried to keep his mind as empty as possible, because he knew what he would get filled with if he let himself be thought. Or rather from whom.

 _"I think we're doomed to do this forever."_ His singing voice resonating in his skull, despite his efforts to drive him out. He shook his head and realized that it was a very bad idea by accidentally making a sudden embargo aside and giving the fear of her life to an old lady who was going through at that time.

 _Don't give me that bullshit. Only a few more blocks before we get there._

Indeed, the roadster swallowing the kilometers at a crazy speed, he arrived just a few minutes later.

He stopped in front of the mansion gate that opened automatically, but chose to turn off the engine and stop, then abandoned his vehicle in the alleyway adjacent to the kitchens, where he knew Alfred would find it and take it back to the garage. He was still lost in thought, which is probably why he did not notice the terrible smell of the surrounding air, nor the strange smoke that was trying to escape from under the back door of the kitchens.

His head was buzzing with thoughts and questions. But one kept coming back to him, like a bad joke: When would the Joker stop? He was tired, so tired of that cruel game that was eating him up. He would have done anything to stop it, even for a truce. Without realizing it, he had carried his index finger to his lips, touching the scar with the tip of his tongue and chewing it anxiously. Oh, he was mad at him, he was so mad at him for not being able to kill him. For he knew that even if he were standing before him at the brink of death, he would have no ethical choice but to save him. And he hated him with all his soul for it.

Bruce climbed the stairs of the porch, and passed through the huge glass doors that led to the great hall, which he quickly crossed. He stopped in the center for a moment, and considered the elevator going directly up into his apartments on his left, then the corridor leading to Alfred's kitchens and quarters on the right. He hesitated for a second, then turned to the right. He obviously didn't have the head to mourn alone in his big room, he needed company.

He walked along the narrow corridor plunged into darkness, but stopped a little before his butler's quarters, in front of the kitchens. Thick black smoke was escaping from under the door, as well as the familiar Copacabana tune that roared behind the door. He frowned. Alfred had never burned anything in this home for as long as he have been in his service, and above all, never, ever would he have traded his beloved Beethoven for Barry Manilow.

Bruce knocked on the door, then, not hearing an answer, he put his hand on the handle, and suddenly opened the door. Immediately he choked, the smoke suffocating him and he rushed blindly to the window he knew to his left to open it and ventilate the area. Fresh air rushed into the room, gradually dissipating the smoke. He distinguished the silhouette of his butler sitting on a chair on the other side of the room, and quickly crossed it. When he was less than a meter from him, his throat tightened. The cut in his index finger started hurting sharply, when he saw Alfred sending him a panicked look from the chair where he was tied and gagged. And completely coated with diverse and varied food, his clothes in a mess.

 _Oh no, please. Please. Anything but that._

He looked up, and searched the room, looking for the only person crazy enough in the world to have the idea of coming to provoke him in his own home. The thick mist slowly dissipated, exiting through the open window. Then, he distinguished a second silhouette, _his_ silhouette, activating himself in front of the stoves and singing in rhythm ''Copacabana'' in the most natural way of the world.

As the smoke disappeared, his vision became clearer but he simply refused to believe what his eyes were sending him. Unfortunately, no matter how furiously he pounded his eyelids, what could only be a terribly real hallucination refused to dissipate.

According to the nervous signals his poor overworked brain was receiving, the Joker was cooking. He had _obviously_ worn a red apron nicely adorned with pleated fringes and an elegant pearly ribbon.

 _Of course, damn it. Who else, anyway._

"They fell in love... At the Copa, Copacabana..." he hummed as he rolled his hips.

The clown finally turned around, and gave Bruce a mischievous smile full of dimples. He walked towards him, wiggling outrageously and made a small eccentric bow before turning off the stereo system.

"Good evening, Sir Batman" he sarcastically chanted, "The meal is almost ready, perhaps you'd like to start with an apetizer?"

 _Batman._

 _He said Batman! How the hell did he know?_

 _Well, of course he knows, you idiot. What the hell would he be doing in your house if he didn't? Oh, my God. What the hell did I do so wrong to deserve this._

Bruce took a step forward, determined to extract the information he wanted from the horribly smiling mouth of his interlocutor. But before he could do anything, the Joker pulled out a gun from under his apron and pointed it straight at his dear butler's head.

 _Oh no._

"Oh, don't make that face. As funny as the prospect of blowing the brains out of your only remaining family may seem, I don't have the slightest desire to do that. But since you don't seem inclined to let me explain the situation calmly to you - without your fist in my face, I mean - I'm going to have to keep your butler with me for now."

"What the hell are you doing here?" swore Bruce, mortified.

"I'm cooking," he replied, shrugging his shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "Isn't it obvious? And I'm hitting on your butler too. Right, handsome?"

Bruce clenched his teeth, furiously fighting the urge to jump on the young man and kick his smile back in his jaw.

"How did you find me?" he asked, icy.

"Wow, it's so cold all of a sudden!" He simpered while crossing his arms against him, as if frozen. "Don't be so defensive, I just want to talk!"

Bruce simply remained static, waiting impassively for the answer to his question. The clown finally sighs and grumbles:

"I found myself having to take an impromptu nap in your garbage last night, I saw the light so I came in, you know the music. Happy?"

Bruce blew as he closed his eyes, expelling all the air from his lungs and his murderous ideas with it. When he reopened them, he was surprised to find that the Joker had come closer, barely a metre apart. He instinctively felt his fists clench and his body stretch in front of the danger posed by his interlocutor so close to him, but before he could do anything, the clown said:

"Actually, my visit is not entirely disinterested. May I tell you something, dear Batman?"

 _Given the situation, I'm hardly in a position to say, "No, fuck you."_

"Please do" he replied, clenching his teeth.

The young man smiled triumphantly in return, and walked a lascivious step towards Alfred. The latter paled badly when the Joker nonchalantly leaned against the chair on which he was restrained and gagged, and even more so when he began to juggle with his weapon, making it spin around his index finger like a kestrel.

"See, my dear Batsy, I'm in... Big, really big trouble right now. Someone's looking for me, for disclosure. Nothing new under the sun, you'll tell me, it is certainly not the first... But it could well be the last."

His gaze became worried, and although his smile engraved in his face could not fade, Bruce felt him become more serious.

"He will find me sooner or later. He knows where to look, where to knock. No offense, honey, but he's the only man I suspect could truly pull me out of this world."

"How did you find my identity?"

The clown slammed his tongue, annoyed.

"Hello? I was talking to you, did you even realize that?"

"Somebody's mad at you, what a scoop. We both know that half of Gotham is, and that you've been doing very well so far. Now, answer me, how did you manage to connect my two identities?"

"Seriously, Batsy?" he mocks, "I know you more than you know yourself. Like I only needed to look for you!"

"Why didn't you come before, then?" replied the vigilante, crossing his arms, almost offended that he had been discovered so easily.

"For what?" replied the clown, shrugging his shoulders, "I like the mask, not the carrier. I don't care if you are... What was it again? Brandon? Brooks?"

"Bruce" he said between his clenched teeth.

"That's right, uh, Bruce. Who cares anyway," he continued, shrugging his shoulders in a theatrical gesture. "Not me at least. I mean you no harm, since I don't care who you are."

"That doesn't stop you from pointing a gun at my butler's temple, obviously."

"No offense Bats, but you're not releasing waves of friendly receptivity either," he laughed. "It's just a token of your attentive listening."

"I'm all ears," Bruce replied sarcastically.

"Perfect."

He cleared his throat and smoothed his purple suit, in a gesture that the vigilante knew only too well and continued, not without a fundamentally new touch of apprehension in his voice:

"Here I go then. Well, Batsy... I need you to take me in for a while."

While contemplating the stunned look that Bruce's face was slowly taking, assimilating the clown's request, the Joker completed:

"Just for a few weeks- Hm, let's say a few months. I won't be intrusive, I promise! I'm not good at tidying up, but I can make an effort, and... Oh, and I'm not the social type, so there's no risk of friends showing up unannounced. I can also cook - quite well, by the way, see for yourself " he said, holding out under his nose the unidentified mixture releasing this thick black smoke. "I, uh... I'm not allergic to any animals that I know of if it makes you feel better... And, uh..."

While Bruce was experiencing a condition that rarely touched him - the one of lack of voice - the Joker waddled for a moment, then finally gave up, almost reluctantly:

"I can even do the dishes if you want."

The master of the place shook his head and had difficulty recovering:

"And why on earth would I do that? You came all the way here to my house, exposing my identity! What if someone saw you come in? Have you thought about it?"

"It doesn't matter," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "If anyone has seen me, always remains the old-fashioned method: A good old knife across the throat, and suddenly the witnesses are much less talkative, and much more cooperative."

"You really are a fucking psychopath," Bruce scolded.

"True" he said smiling, making his scars stretch horribly. "But I'm your favorite psychopath, admit it."

"I really don't see why I would do that. What the hell is going on, in the end? What were you thinking when you came here?" he growled angrily.

"I told you, I landed in your trash... Oh, by the way..."

Bruce clenched his fists, staring at his interlocutor with his most deadly gaze.

"... No, really Batsy, you should relax," he interrupted himself, "Especially with what I'm about to tell you. A little tea maybe? "

"Fuck you!"

"All right, all right, all right!" He said, raising his hands, "I just wanted to point out to the kindhearted and compassionate owner of this place that I accidentally brought a gift with me. But since this character doesn't have the same sense of humour as me _at all_ , I doubt he'll appreciate the gesture."

The vigilante's gaze suddenly became worried.

"And I can know what kind of gift yo... Oh Joker, no. Not that?" he said anxiously as he understood.

"Yes, it is. Seven. In your garbage too, but in my defense, I really don't know how they got there."

"You... You brought seven corpses into my garbage cans?"

"Sorry?"

An icy silence followed. Bruce slowly brought a trembling hand back to his mouth, as if he was feeling nauseous.

 _I'm not sure if I should cry or gut him alive._

"Turn around," he suddenly took a step forward, "Hands behind your back, I'll take you to Arkham right away."

A shadow of fear crossed the Joker's eyes, which the master of the place did not miss, but he was quickly distracted by the rapid gesture of his interlocutor, removing the security from the weapon with an expert gesture and pressing the barrel against Alfred's temple so hard that it would surely create a bruise.

"Look, Batsy, I really don't have a-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Ignoring the threat the best he could, Bruce suddenly stepped forward to the Joker and sent him down with a solid uppercut to the jaw. The gunshot went too late and the bullet went into the ceiling as the Joker grabbed the billionaire's shirt and dragged him down. The two antagonists rolled together on the ground for a moment under Alfred's panicked gaze, before Bruce took back his advantage gave a solid punch across the Joker's throat. He took advantage of his opponent suddenly choking to immobilize him by lying him on his stomach and holding his arms behind his back with one hand, the other as a support for the ground as he planted a knee between his shoulder blades to prevent any movement. A serious mistake, because the Joker taking advantage of the proximity of this hand next to his head savagely bit it, unbalancing his opponent long enough to tip him against the ground. He narrowly caught up with his gun that he had been forced to drop, and pushed the gun into Bruce's mouth, immediately removing the safety and pulling his finger against the trigger.

"This time I'm not joking Batsy, not this time" he said between his clenched teeth as he was sketching a defensive gesture. "If you interrupt me again, I swear to God, I'll put a bullet in your throat, it won't kill you, but you'll think twice before you cut me off."

The metallic cold of the intruder object in his mouth convinced him not to protest any further, and he simply shot his interlocutor with his eyes. He passed a hand through his black hair with curious hints of green to put them back in place after their short exchange having ruffled them, and summarily wiped up the blood flowing from his lip split by the punch.

"Well, now that it's done, can we take it easy again? He asked, resuming his usual smile, despite the sour tone of his voice.

Faced with the obvious lack of response from his interlocutor, he continued:

"Believe me, if I'm asking you this, it's because I have no choice. I know very well what your answer is... At least, at the moment, but may I remind you, dear Batman, that you are as stuck as I am? The bodies are in your garbage right now, and if you refuse... Hm, if you don't want to help, there may well be a rumor going around that they're in your house. Tell yourself it's for our own good... For the both of us."

In the absence of a more articulated response, Bruce simply fulminated a series of inconsistent syllables around the weapon between his teeth.

 _Since when does he care about anyone? Even I can see that it's a lie!_

"Not convinced, huh?" he laughs back, "If I told you that the person looking for me was not only worse, much worse than me... but also that he was as angry at you as he was at me... Would that calm you down?"

With a head movement to the side, the billionaire spat the gun out of his mouth and retorted with an acidic grin:

"Worse than you? Like I'm going to swallow that!"

"Oh, Batsy, you're making me blush," he said, regaining his childish smile and pressing the gun against his troat to let him free to speak while keeping his threat.

"I don't believe it for a second," he whispered back.

"Really Bats, you have no chance of doing it alone; neither do I! What I'm proposing is... An alliance. For our common good."

"I don't give a shit about your problems! Why don't you tell that to the Sphinx, Poison Ivy or anyone else?"

"Because they're not you! I need your protection, and you need my help, whether you like it or not."

 _I know he's not wrong, but rather swallow a hundred blades than admit it._

After a silence of a few seconds, the clown sighed and raised his voice:

"Oh, stop being a kid for a minute, will you? Can you see yourself getting rid of these bodies alone? Because you can forget my help if the answer is negative."

"...It's blackmail" grunted the brown one like a last card.

"Really?" he whispered with amusement, "What a prude you can be! Blackmail, I eat it every morning for breakfast, do you really think that's what's going to stop me?"

The vigilante looked away for a moment, and crossed eyes with Alfred. His butler seemed furious, and that was perfectly understandable. But he didn't have a choice anymore. He did not have the courage to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.

"... Start by getting off me, and put that away" he reluctantly pointed to the gun.

A triumphant smile lit up his interlocutor's face, and after a second of complacency, he released his grip by removing the weapon from his throat and stood up to stand beside him. Bruce, on the other hand, simply straightened to sit up and brought one of his legs against him, with one hand on his face.

This can't be happening. I'm just in the middle of a nightmare, I'm going to wake up terrified but without any trace of any clown in my house. Yes, it can only be that.

"I guess that meant yes" found it useful to clarify the Joker by walking in lascivious circles.

"I guess it means I have no fucking choice," he spat furiously.

"It's the same," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"But first" Bruce replied by getting up and pointing an accusing finger, "You're going to give me that gun, explain to me who this guy is, why he's mad at you, how I'm supposed to … _protect_ you from him, and most importantly, you're going to make a formal promise to keep yourself clean from now on. There's absolutely no way I'm finding any more bodies, or- Anything else. Let's be clear, Joker, if while you're here I have to become Batman because of you, it'll be to cuff you and send you to Arkham. Do I make myself clear?"

"Oh, just that?" the Joker articulated acrimoniously, seemingly sobered.

"No, that's not all. From now on, as long as you're here, I'm going to watch you, believe me, I'm not going to let go of you" He hesitated for a second, then added, "And I'm coming to hide the bodies with you."

The clown raised an interrogating eyebrow.

"Curious?" he asked.

"Certainly not. But I want to know how you get rid of it, too many people have disappeared lately and I'd like to know how to do it and where to go to find them... or what's left of them."

"I guess I don't have a choice either," he grumbled.

"Joker, your weapons" he demanded, reaching out with one hand.

"... All of them?"

"Obviously," he replied, rolling his exasperated eyes.

"All right, all right!" sighed the clown dramatically, giving him the gun. He quickly searched his pockets for other possible weapons and pulled out about ten ammunition recovered from his ex-subalterns, plus a wide range of knives from the common pocket knife to the curved dagger, including the scalpel and the Swiss army knife.

"Are you really walking around with all this on you all the time?" sour laughed the vigilante in front of the small pile of weapons building up.

"And you, do you always come out in armor?" he replied sarcastically, "I'm like you, Batsy, I only wear the suit when I need it... Except my own suit is the civilian's, not the monster's."

 _I think I should have kept my mouth shut._

"It's late," he said, turning his eyes to the window overlooking the stormy night sky. "And we'll probably have a lot of work tomorrow. Are the bodies in the dumpster in the back?"

"If you mean the huge green container behind the kitchens, yes, that's when I woke up."

"At least you've chosen your place, no one will look for them there because this property is supposedly _off limits to the public,_ " he said, hammering the last words, "They can wait until dawn."

"On the other hand, Batsy, they're corpses, where do you want them to go?" he laughs.

The vigilante was about to throw a sharp spike but an insistent throat clearance came to their ears, and Bruce realized as he turned around that Alfred was still tied and gagged on his chair at the other end of the room. The billionaire slapped himself mentally and rushed to his faithful friend, then began to untie him under the latter's furious gaze.

He expertly released his arms and legs before helping him to get up. Alfred then undertook to tear off the thick piece of tape that was gagging his mouth, under the mocking eye of the Joker. But although he was free to speak, the butler remained dangerously silent.

"... Listen Alfred" tried the billionaire in front of this lack of reaction, "I don't have the choice-"

"Your parents" he finally cut it off in a trembling voice, "Would have been so ashamed of you, Mr. Bruce!"

He did not dare to move. Alfred was right, of course. But he had no choice, not anymore. He looked away, unable to say anything.

"If that's what you really want, I can't object, but know that the esteem I have for you is quite tarnished. Now go to hell, both of you."

His throat was tied. There was nothing more to add. He glanced at the Joker, who had remained curiously silent during the exchange, and nodded at him to follow him. The latter advanced towards the vigilante by taking a last look behind him at the butler who, with his hands flat against the table and his shoulders arched, seemed to have collapsed in contemplation of the mound of arms in front of him. He resolutely turned his back on them.

The billionaire slowly closed the door.

"I hope you are aware of the sacrifice this represents for me," he finally said.

The clown raised an eyebrow a bit mockingly but, once is not customary, did not answer. He followed the man who had already turned his heels and opened the door ; Getting a grip, he explained:

"We need a minimum of sleep, I'll set up a guest bed next to mine. I'll make sure you don't go anywhere myself."

"Sleepover then?" he joked, "Should I have brought my blanket and hot chocolate to stay awake chatting all night?"

"Just go in there," he ignored it, pointing to the elevator that opened slowly, "And in silence."

The clown made a few growls of protest punctuated by a "Not funny, Batsy" but complied. The brown haired one followed him closely, indicating the second floor to the elevator.

"It's funny, though," he commented with a smile, his eyes pensively staring at the void in front of him, "You sacrifice what's left of your family to save your worst enemy. You can be really twisted sometim-"

He was cut off by a violent uppercut in the diaphragm, tearing off a hiccup of pain. His legs trembled and finally let go under him, and he fell to his knees on the metal floor of the elevator.

"I told you 'in silence'," the vigilante hammered in an icy tone, "It's not very safe for you to upset me now, I couldn't be in a worse mood."

The Joker on the ground laughed with difficulty. A dangerous gleam shone in his eyes for a moment as he seemed reluctant to give the vigilante his shot. However, he replied in a sharp tone:

"Since when do I do safe things?"

\He got up quickly, used to it, but breathing a little more archaically now. The elevator let out a joyful "ding" when the doors opened on the second floor, furiously denoting the electrical energy between the two antagonists.

The owner pointed to a door to the Joker with a head movement, signaling him to go ahead of him.

 _He probably won't do anything stupid, but I'd rather make sure he gave me all his weapons._

When he opened the door, the Joker discovered a very large dressing room. The ceiling lit up with a subdued light when the door opened, illuminating a row of sliding-door cupboards embedded in the walls and a rich carpet in red and burgundy tones, on which luxurious leather sofas rested. In one corner, a plastic mannequin proudly wore an evening black silky suit. No windows. Bruce came in after him, and locked the door behind him.

 _Just a precaution._

"A custom mannequin?" he laughed as he touched the fragile iridescent fabric with his fingernails.

The master of the place ignored it again, and began to search one of the closets convulsively.

"How long do you plan to stay?" he asked between his clenched teeth.

"I have no idea. By the time he forgets, I guess."

"And who is this "he"?" Bruce asked, throwing some clothes on the floor.

"Oh, you wouldn't know him anyway."

"That's not what I asked you."

He felt the clown hesitating behind him, and partially turned around to stare at him. He sighed.

"You're safe here, you said so yourself. It's far, very far from enchanting me, but as long as you're in danger, you'll stay here... On the condition that I know everything about him."

He seemed to hesitate for a second more, but when he met the vigilante's firm gaze, he reluctantly said:

"His name is O'Carton, or O'Caroy, something like that... An Irishman. The head of the Irish mafia, actually, and a bunch of others. Visiting Gotham right now."

Bruce stopped all research activity in the closet and entirely turned back to his interlocutor. This one went on:

"A very good poker player. I kind of... interrupted his game two days ago. That's when he noticed me and- Are you okay, Batsy?"

"O'Carroll? The Bartley O'Carroll?"

"O'Carroll, that's it! It seems you actually know him."

"Of course I know him," he said, turning around again and taking other clothes out of the closet. "I really expected a lot of things from you, but getting you into _that_ much trouble..."

As he searches, he thinks at full speed.

 _Bartley O'Carroll Jr. must be one of the most dangerous people on this planet, mainly because of his network of influence. He owns the polices, the armies, some governments, sometimes even entire countries. A man in the shadows. I had tried to look into his case at the very beginning of my career as a vigilante, when I was still naive enough to believe that I could stop him, but I could not find anyone to tell me about him: The blessed who did not know his name were obviously many in view of his status as a discreet man, but the few survivors who had met him and knew enough to be useful in any way were much more terrified of him than of me. We are amateurs compared to this man._

"Do you know what he wants from you?" he asked the clown.

"It's you he wants."

This had the merit of stopping Bruce cleanly. The criminal continued:

"You're interfering with his network. Remember the leader of the Libyan armed group you defeated last month during his visit to Gotham? He was one of his henchmen. And this is just one of the many examples of the plans you've interfered with."

"And why would he come after you to get to me?" he asked in return.

"He thinks I know you best. Your sworn enemy, in a way, knows more about you than your teammate, however close he may be. He's looking for your weak points, so it's logical that he's coming to see me."

"Why didn't you just offer you an alliance in this case?"

"Oh, he did it. I just refused."

 _...Refused?_

"Why do you think he wants to get his hands on you? Certainly not to scold you. He wants to kill you, Bats."

It felt like an icy shower to Bruce. Of course, it wasn't the first time we put a price on his head, but the fact that this person was so dangerous, that he went through his lifelong enemy to try to reach him and that he refused to help him... It was a lot of information. Bruce knew exactly what it meant to deny this man his help. One didn't live long after that, but above all, O'Carroll always got what he wanted, walking on the bodies of his opponents if necessary. What he had done was pure and simple suicide.

 _Does that mean he... saved my life, indirectly?_

"... You-"

"Of course I refused" he cut it off immediately, "If you die, I die with you. Whether you like it or not, our characters are linked, and if one of us were to disappear, the other would be destined to be forgotten too. I have no reason to be without you, it doesn't make any sense, just like you have no reason to keep order if I'm not here to create chaos."

The two antagonists remained silent for a few moments. There was nothing more to add.

The Joker eventually cleared his throat, and leaned slightly towards the pile of clothes forming on the carpet by raising an eyebrow.

"Did you throw all these clothes on the floor for a specific purpose or just for fun?"

"Well," Bruce suddenly remembered, "Yes, the clothes left in the closet should be more or less your size, the ones on the ground are either too big or too damaged. You clearly can't stay in those clothes," he says, pointing to the criminal's amethyst costume, "They're too recognizable. These are a little old, but they should be enough for now. We'll see about that later."

"All this for me?" he said with a big smile and a wink, "Oh Batsy, you sweet talker."

Bruce looked up dramatically to the sky, and handed him a simple t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

"Change your clothes."

"... Here?" the Joker asked sceptically, "That is to say, it lacks privacy."

"Yes," he simply replied, "I hope for your sake you don't have any other weapons on you."

"Do you feel in an daring mood today?" he winked as he took the clothes.

"Joker" he scolded coldly as a warning.

"All right, all right!" he groaned "Aren't you even going to turn around?"

In response, the vigilante crossed his arms firmly in front of him and fixed his eyes on the criminal. He grunted slightly, but did not object any more.

Bruce put on Batman's mask in spirit, becoming the merciless vigilante for a moment. He clearly couldn't search the Joker, the proximity would be far too close and he could very easily seriously hurt him if he had kept a weapon on him. The armor was not there to protect him today, the only way to be sure he was completely disarmed was to make sure himself.

The Joker undressed quickly, discovering a diaphanous milky white skin strewn with bruises and scars under the rigorous and severe gaze of the vigilante. When he took off his underwear, the brown haired man simply stared at his antagonist's feet while listening to his amused giggles. After long seconds, he ended up putting on the clothes lent by the millionaire.

"Wow! Is that silk?" He asked.

 _No other weapons on him, so. Good. I cannot trust him, of course, but it is already reassuring that he is putting his good will into it._

"Follow me"said Bruce when unlocking the door, "The room is a little further away."

 _I have to say that I didn't expect tonight to be so ... Strange._

Bruce lead the step this time, and directed the Joker to his usual room, a large luxurious suite in navy blue and cream tones. The Joker let out an admiring whistle in front of the obvious splendour of the place.

"In a way, I understand better how you can spend your nights chasing criminals," he said, lifting an expensive vase to admire it, "It's not as if with all that money you really need to get up in the morning to go to work, is it?"

"I'm not talking about this with you," he said sharply, "Now come over here."

The billionaire opened what seemed at first glance to be a simple closet, but once opened turned out to be a cleverly concealed bed in the vertical. He tilted the door horizontally, and metal feet spread out underneath the box spring. The clown laughed.

"Even your house is full of surprises!"

"I hope you want to see more, because I have another one for you."

"Anothe-"

The prince was cut off by the familiar 'click' of the steel of a pair of handcuffs closing on his wrist. In the second that followed, the second bracelet was hung on the metal frame of the bed, forcing the clown to bend, constrained by its brand new hindrance. He remained silent for a second before turning a suspicious face towards the vigilante who looked satisfied.

"Uh, Batsy?" he began, "If you wanted me to stop making lewd remarks, don't you think tying me to the bed is a little inappropriate?"

"Stay there," he said as he walked to the bathroom next to the suite.

"It's not as if I really had a choice," he complained, outraged, as Bruce closed the door behind him with the satisfaction of a job well done. He quickly got rid of his own clothes and changed to a more comfortable night attire. He vaguely heard the Joker's unhappy growls from where he was, which tore off a somewhat inappropriate smile of satisfaction.

 _I think I've never been happier to be alone._

He stopped for a second in front of his own reflection, and looked at his face. With his features drawn, his shoulders slumped and his eyes red, he seemed not to have slept for weeks. He corrected his posture, quickly brushed his teeth and splashed a little water on his face.

 _It's not a panacea, but I guess that's still better than nothing at all._

I'd better go back, who knows what he's capable of when he's alone.

He went back to the main room, and found the Joker sitting on his bed, his arm stretched out by his shackles and the other supporting his head heavily. He gave him a death glare.

"You're not going to leave this with me all night, are you?"

"Of course I am, and not just tonight. Did you really think I was going to let you wander wherever you want?" he said as he sat on his bed, "There's bedding sheets in the closet on your right."

"But Batsy!" he complained, "I'll be good, I promise! At least tie my other arm instead, I can't sleep on my stomach!"

"Too late, tomorrow maybe if everything goes well. I'm turning off the lights now," he said, annoyed by his own paternalistic remarks.

"Oh Bat's, be nice" he said as the room plunged into darkness, "And how do I do it if I have to go to the bathroom?"

The empty bottle of water thrown through the room and ending up in his face answered his question.

"Good night to you too" grumbled the latter as he layed down.

 _Good night, it is quickly said,_ thought the vigilante while sitting in tailors on his own bed. He took advantage of the fact that the Joker could no longer see him in the complete darkness of the room to open the drawer of his bedside table, in which he knew where to find a pair of infrared glasses. He could definitely not just go to sleep without precautions, he had to be sure that his "guest" was asleep before going to bed. For a moment, he had the idea of asking the Iron Man for help to install an artificial intelligence like Jarvis, of which he had always been secretly jealous. This installation would have the significant advantage of letting him sleep and watching the Joker even while he was away, but he soon had to resign himself to forgetting it when Tony Stark's alcoholic side came to mind. If he asked him for such a thing, he should let him in here, so reveal his identity. Letting him disclose it one day when he had drunk too much was not an option.

After a moment of groping in the drawer, he took out the pair of glasses he was looking for and put them on. He stared for a moment at the Joker who was wiggling in his sheets, then he turned around to him with an annoyed look.

"Hey, Batsy?" he finally let go in a sigh, "I know you don't sleep, you're not very discreet..."

The billionaire swore inside, but chose to remain silent.

"I know you think I'm gonna jump on you, a knife between your teeth any second, but you also know I'm not here by choice. I like to piss you off, but this time I have to give up a part of myself that I don't think I can detach in order to do it. It may not look like it, but it's as painful for you as it is for me. For the first time, Batsy, I chose not to leave things to chance, to act... Well, to act logically."

His interlocutor hesitated, and then replied in a hoarse voice:

"The most logical thing would have been to go hide out at Harley Quinn's and keep a low profile for a while."

"Harley?" he laughs, "She must already be dead if she's still at home, if she is not a complete idiot, she's probably out of town by now. Harley is only a tool, if it could have been useful to me then I would have used her. She doesn't know where I am either... or me where she is, by the way. She must be hanging out with Poison Ivy right now, or she's somewhere else, for all I care...

"And you're still wondering why you're considered a monster?"

"Of course not," he replied, almost offended, "I know perfectly well why I am considered a monster, and rightly so, I believe. Seriously Batsy, you still don't understand! After all these years? I use Harley because she's nothing, my henchmen are nothing, civilian casualties are nothing, police officers, mobsters, even this Batley O'Carroll crap is nothing at all, but you! Oh no, you're... You're everything. All my existence, all my history, you created me and since that day nothing matters but you. And that's why I'm a monster, you're confusing cause and effect! When it comes to you, I can't close my eyes. You're... You're the part of me I can't afford to lose. If I had wanted to, I would have accepted his offer and you would currently be six feet underground, except that it would not benefit me at all. He wants me to have you, and I'm not willing to leave him either. That's why I'm here, because it concerns us, as... A whole. It's you, me and no one else."

"... Sleep, now," the Batman finally answered. He didn't want to hear any more, hearing him talk about them as partners made him sick.

"Very well," he said raising his head in a princely reflex, and lying down without any more preambles. Bruce could not do the same, the coloured venom of his words sneaking into his black-tinted mind.

 _I can't afford to listen to him, I'd go as crazy as he did in a few hours if I was looking for a meaning to what he says. Lord, I never want to hear his voice again._

 _I should sleep, at least try, we'll have too much to do tomorrow with the bodies in my garbage to be tired. I don't think he can try anything tonight anyway._

 _Hopefully there won't be any more deaths by then..._

He turned around and made a bitter grin.

 _Although, if he could choke on his pillow..._

 **.**

 **.**

End of Chapter 1.

Here I go! Sorry again for any mistakes or grammatical errors, and feel free to leave a review, it means the world to me!

Thank you for your time, and see you next time! 3


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